


Love is an open door

by hikari0205



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikari0205/pseuds/hikari0205
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of short ficlets from my tumblr askbox. First, an ill Enjolras is taken care of by Grantaire. Second, a quiet moment between Enjolras and his Guide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "You look like shit, Apollo"

**Author's Note:**

> I have not checked these for errors, so I apologise if there are any!

Enjolras was ill, and when Enjolras was ill you did not want to be around him. Snuffly and cold, he was sat on the living room floor of his and Combeferre’s apartment, making a very slow progression on his notes for the next Amis meeting. Tissues, half drank teas and coffees and cold and flu tablets surrounded the mound of duvet that covered their pathetically snuffling leader. All morning Combeferre had attempted to reason with him the merits of resting in bed, but Enjolras was nothing if not stubborn and refused point-blank to halt his work no matter the consequences on his already terrible health. In annoyance, Combeferre desperately called around the rest of their friends, begging them to take on the job of babysitting the dying blonde just for an afternoon. Only one agreed. As he pulled open the door to a relaxed and tipsy looking Grantaire, hair bundled into a beanie hat and body covered in a long heavy coat against the winter chill, he grinned in relief and pulled the resident skeptic into the living room.

"I have never been happier to see you!" Combeferre said as he pulled on a jacket and slipped his shoes into his boots, Grantaire watching with mild interest.

"I’ll try not to be too offended by that .." He responded, pulling off his own coat and throwing it over a chair. It was then that his eyes caught the gently shivering bundle of duvet on the floor. He turned to Combeferre with a raised eyebrow, only to be answered with an annoyed shrug.

"He’s been there all morning. Good luck getting him to move" Combeferre muttered as he sent a quick text and picked up his wallet. "Anyway, got to go. Courfeyrac’s meeting me downstairs. Just make sure he drinks and try to make him eat .. And if you can get him into bed, well that’d be a miracle" Without waiting for a response, Combeferre clapped Grantaire on the shoulder and left through the front door. With a sigh, Grantaire turned and wandered over to the sofa behind his shivering Apollo. Flopping onto the sofa cushion he lifted a foot and gave the lump a gentle push with his toes. Enjolras turned and God he looked like shit. His eyes and nose were red and his usual healthy glow was gone, replaced by a sick and pale pallor that did not suit him at all.

"You look like shit, Apollo" Grantaire pointed out, taking a hip flask from his bag and swigging the whiskey within. Enjolras glared, but the effect was ruined by a loud and wet sneeze. As he cleaned his nose, Grantaire grimaced. Fucking gross. Typical that the only time he gets alone with his golden-haired God is when he’s covered in sweat and dripping at the nose. Still, Combeferre had entrusted this job to him and he would attempt to fulfil it without too much disappointment. "Time for bed." Grantaire announced as he pushed himself off the sofa and picked up the mound of duvet and Enjolras as best he could, receiving an undignified squark in protest from the pile. 

"Gr’nt’re, pu’ me dow’!" Enjolras insisted, muffled by the sheets covering his face. Grantaire ignored the protest with a grin and carried him into the twin bedroom Combeferre and Enjolras shared, plonking him on the bed he knew to be Enjolras’. 

"You’re gonna stay there and sleep" Grantaire insisted before making a quick trip back to the living room to fetch his bag and returning to the bedroom. After a quick rustle he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and locked one of the cuffs around Enjolras’ naked wrist. 

"What’r—Where’d y’u even get dose?!" Enjolras questioned in horror as the other cuff was locked to the bedpost, keeping him from escape. Grantaire chuckled and properly tucked in the affronted Enjolras before walking to the window to pull shut the curtains. 

"Here’s what’s gonna happen" Grantaire began, taking a seat on the edge of Combeferre’s bed. "I’m gonna leave .. I’m gonna watch some porn - or cat videos - or whatever for a few hours—"

"Y’u didn’ bring a laptop"

"—Obviously using your laptop, my dearest. Then I’ll come back .. And if you’ve been a good boy I’ll let you go for a few hours. Deal?" He asked with an easy smile as Enjolras glared daggers from across the room. He stood and walked to the door, opening it and turning off the room’s lights. "Get some sleep, Apollo" He smiled, closing the door before the blonde had time to protest. He’d surely pay for this later, but for now Enjolras needed rest and if he wouldn’t give it to himself, Grantaire would make it impossible for him to refuse.


	2. An evening off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short and not checked for errors. I apologise if there are any!

Together they lay on the old threadbare sofa that stood in the center of Combeferre’s tiny apartment, a documentary about an old rebellion in 1830’s Paris playing quietly in the background. It had been a long and arduous week for the Amis but their latest project - a large scale protest on the replacement of an old and unfair voting system - had gained some significant attention by various forms of media nationwide over the past couple of days.

Only a few hours earlier, high on the knowledge that an interview with the key voices of the movement would be featured on the prominent news network, Enjolras had been positively buzzing at the realisation that their work and beliefs were finally being recognised. Now, however, with his head lying on Combeferre’s chest, he was still and drowsy and enjoying the feel of Combeferre’s fingers threading through his curly blonde hair. They had left the others celebrating in the Cafe Musain two hours ago, once Grantaire and Courfeyrac had drunkenly started to sing the French national anthem unbearably out of tune, and had enjoyed their fill of local take out and half a glass each of red wine.

As the documentary credits played, Enjolras rasied his head to rest his chin gently on Combeferre’s chest. “Do you think Feuilly remembered to get all of the na—”

"Enjolras" Combeferre chastised quietly with a smile. "No more shop talk, alright? You promised the evening off" Their fearless leader huffed but quietened, replacing the side of his face to the chest of his partner. Combeferre reached down and placed a gentle kiss into the blonde curls he loved so much and mumbled a quiet "rest" before lying back, head resting back on the sofa’s armrest. Enjolras sighed sleepily in response and pulled Combeferre’s hand up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the tips of each of his fingers before closing his eyes, hand still holding Combeferre’s in place. With a grin, Combeferre closed his own eyes and let his hand rest on the small of Enjolras’ back, gently rubbing a small circle with his thumb. Undoubtedly Enjolras would prattle on endlessly tomorrow about the protest and its successes, but for now they would rest with nothing to think about but each other.


End file.
